


Eleven

by stormilys



Category: Star vs. The Forces Of Evil
Genre: F/M, Future Fic, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-22
Updated: 2015-12-22
Packaged: 2018-05-08 10:53:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5494562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stormilys/pseuds/stormilys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Star Butterfly could have said <em>I love you too</em> to a <em>You might trip on your shoelaces!</em> from Marco Diaz and it'd still make sense.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eleven

** 8 **

No matter how hard he tries at keeping his grumbling under his breath she hears him anyway, from underneath the ladder. Another star fell down and Star jumped to catch it halfway as he groans.

"Stupid plastic stars keep falling off."

"Would have been easier if we used magic!" She sing-songs.

He scowls at her, but the look is comical instead of stern when she reaches up to give him the stars that kept shooting south. Their fingers brush and Marco taps her head with a comet-shaped figure.

"I promised I'd set them up for you."

* * *

** 2 **

She's only mildly surprised when the wand doesn't change forms after she offered it up to him if he wanted to look at it up close.

Marco handles it, as careful and gentle as she told him to be. He turns it in his hands, thumbing at the wings, the handle, the star piece. They're almost too close to be standing at a distance that's not a bit like _just friends_ and she doesn't care and she knows he doesn't either. Almost as if she knew how he felt.

Must be a soulmate thing.

* * *

** 5 **

On her fifth attempt at cooking up an afternoon snack of burnt nachos and a mass of blackened goo of what was supposed to be melted cheese it was high time she threw in the towel and almost destroyed the Diaz kitchen after she whipped up her wand in a fit of frustration.

"Whoa, hey! Simmer down, Starsay Gordon!" He laughs, warily, and stirs her away from the stove and over the back of the counter facing away from her current enemy: the kitchen.

"I have no idea what I'm doing! What made me think I could do this?" She's near to tears. Unbelievable. It's just _cooking_ —it's not supposed to be so _hard_. "Yeah, I can't do this at all."

He does not think so. He only grips her shoulders, shaking her up with a determination that, though she might not say out loud, did wonders to her bad mood.

"You  _ can_. Come on, let's go again, huh?"

Star sniffs, wipes her face as viciously as she could, and nods. "Let's try again."

* * *

**11**

Maybe she's finally got the courage when she whispered the words that instead fell on deaf ears when she feels his breathing against her shoulder and his greasy fingers tangled with her greasy fingers. That she disregards the movie they're supposed to watch to look at him instead. Of falling asleep next to him on the couch and waking up in the morning to the blankets pulled around her while he'd numbed his arm by using it to pillow her head and he's crammed against the back of the couch.

"Morning," he cringes as much as he tries to smile. "So… bacon or tostadas?"

* * *

** 4 **

She's reminded that Marco dances when it was  _ he _ who pulls  _ her _ to the dance floor in techno-pop at the heavy swing of Brittney's birthday party. She's winded and flushed from the bounce lounge when it happens; when Marco pulls her to him and it was rainbow strobe lights instead of a single red spotlight.

His hair is mussed and he's clearly in the zone for quite some time now. "Safety Personnel also has to make sure Master of the Ceremony is enjoying herself in a safe manner."

"And dancing with Master of the Ceremony is safe? Take a good look at this dance floor,  _mi amigo_ _!_ "

"Don't worry," he pulls her closer. "There's no safer place than in my arms,  _bella_ _._ " It's meant to be a joke, and it's so cheesy and so out of character that Star wished she could have recorded it for later purposes, but she'd be lying if she hadn't turned rosy, warm on the face.

She settles for a weak punch on his shoulder and laughter.

"Let's dance!"

* * *

** 6 **

"Stop standing over there and help me shoot them to pieces, Diaz!"

When she pushes against his shoulder, he does nothing but groan and shoves her back. He is not afraid to push her, doesn't handle her as if she's this fragile, breakable thing. "If you can't see, _look_ I'm kinda tied up as _well_."

"You're not as cooperative in video games as you are in reality, Marco."

"Hey!"

"Oh my _god_ I am so saving your avatar— _move out of the way, bug!_ "

"Hey, no matter how useless my character is right now— _ don't deny it! _You kick  _butt _ in this!—I still help you because I got your back and you got mine, don't you?"

"I _know_ that, but we're gonna lose if you don't shut up shoot your turn!"

"On it,  _ jefa_."

* * *

** 1 **

The first time she realizes, it's painful. A constricting, unpleasant tightness in her chest that she's breathless from it. It's not from running three blocks while rain showered overhead. She's not clueless; it's familiar and also new, but it's vastly different and she knows, knows,  _ knows _ while he frets about them both.

No, it wasn't like this with Oskar. Oskar, the embodiment of stomach butterflies and sweaty palms and deep breaths and stumbling over words. Infatuation. That's what it was. It was mostly a harmless crush, Mewberty not included.

This one  _ hurt_. It _ached_. Ache, when she realizes he's yet to let her hand go. Ache, when he hurried them over to the carpet in front of the fireplace. Ache, ache, ache, when he towels off her hair and wraps another two around her shoulders and asks her if she'd like hot chocolate while he stood there, dripping raindrops into the carpet.

The term  _ crush _ wasn't quite the word describe it, even though the heavy, sinking feeling to her stomach was living up to the name.

* * *

** 10 **

She tries not to let it get to her— _ much _ —when it begins to creep up to her like an annoying spy-bug of Ludo's. Denial wasn't going to bring him back from his 'journey to self-awareness' or to be short, his final test to get his brown belt.

_ See you at the 27th, Star. _

Until then, Star Butterfly was going to camp out in his room in the meantime whether he liked it or not. Her room was  way too messy for habitation anyway.

…Maybe he'd like new pony posters on his wall.

* * *

**3**

They're invited the Brittney Wong way: a flyer being taped smack to her forehead from a red-faced Brittney with the words  _ Master of the Ceremony - Star Butterfly _ emblazoned on the magenta advert with  _ Safety Personnel - Marco Diaz  _ written below her name in font 8.

Marco almost threw a fit. (For being Safety Personnel.)

"Well, I'm  _ Master of the Ceremony _ now, so, no backing out!  _ We're invited! _ " She's gushing, ending with a scream, bouncing on her toes until his hands steady her. Marco's frowning, but it's melting to a smile he can't seem to suppress.

"Well, I'm  _ Safety Personnel _ now, so. No spiking the drinks."

"Pfft,  _ Master of the Ceremony _ says who?"

" _Safety Personnel _ says so."

" _Master of the Ceremony _ can say and do what she wants."

" _Safety Personnel _ is here to make sure that Master of the Ceremony makes reasonable choices."

"I can take care of myself."

"I know."

* * *

** 9 **

It's only logical that it's Marco who gets to taste-test the risotto she's been trying to perfect for weeks. 4 weeks, actually. She's dismayed she spilled a tiny some on the counter in her excitement to serve it. She's got rice and various vegetable particles sticking on her apron, face and the sink was a mess but  _ whatever _ she can handle those things later because she cannot handle what was happening  _ right now _ and she needs to handle it or she'll go mad.

She's crouched over the other side and hiding as he takes his first spoonful, second, third. When he finishes she's on her toes and practically invades his space.

"Give it to me straight." She says seriously, at his serious face. The verdict has come. Judgment Day. The Alpha and the Omega of her MasterChef skills.

"This dish is so out of this world it can't be categorized on a existing category in the art of cooking risotto." He shook his head and she's nodding eagerly. When he doesn't say anything else her mighty temper reared its horns as she slaps the counter in pure frustration, scowling, feeling as if she's lost an important battle.  _And it was an important battle indeed._

"I knew it! It's that bad, isn't it? Oh, this is so stupid—"

"Star."

"What!?"

He's smiling at her now and she understands and swells with pride when he says his next words, "It means I'd love seconds, please. And thirds, or fourths and even fifths."

* * *

** 7 **

Welp, she was falling and her wings were still much too small to help her and her wand, damn it, was still getting cleaned.

Marco not-quite catches her. Not-quite because he's not exactly Superman and they end up on a heap together on the floor but at least she's still safe because he caught her and at least her bum didn't hurt that much.  "Well. _Ow._ "

"Marco?" Should she tell him?

He's raising his eyebrows at her. "Yeah?"

"You tried."

Star wraps her arms around his neck as she humors him; trying to be all knightly as he tries to stand while trying to look as if his arms weren't ready to give out. "I cushioned your fall anyway, is what counts. Awesome Beanbag Marco?"

" _Awkward_ _Beansprout _ Marco. Now put me down before you rupture something!"

"Ugh, _whatever_! Wouldn't want to carry you, anyway."

When Marco puts her down, it's natural when her hand moves towards him and their hands weave almost as if it were a normal occurrence. And Marco stuck his tongue out at her and Star blew him a raspberry until they dissolve into fits of laughter.

"Let's go home, Princess Cuckoo Pants."

"Aye, aye, Wild Man!"


End file.
